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Mister twisted-in-the-head last seen flyin’ coach, braggin’
roachin’ crazy hazy days on the band wagon
saggin’ slightly in the pants, stance awkward as fedoras
gimme two or more reasons why these antics shouldn’t bore us
‘Bout time you look for filler
kill a crappy-ass rapper with a lyrical solilo-
“Cui-Cui” Motherfuckers! It’s the Birdie in the house,
shittin’ on the beat, skeet-skeet shooters finna’ bow
down to the pleasure of the verbal verbosity,
take another hit of the herbal monstrosity

livin’ off the snare like he poach a damn rabbit,
puntin’ nuns in the rear like he’s kicking the habit,
sick addiction to the flow, slick friction on the bars
hoppin’, choppin’ beets faster than the chef to the czar
We go on motherfuckin’ instinct
auto-tuna lance bass, catch us bumpin’ ‘n sync
sinkin’ to the floor, put her tushie in the air
double team her wide receiver like a double-dog-dare
And if the rap ain’t funny
curb stomp a bee’s knees till he’s beggin’ for your honey

slow it down now girly
whip your tits like a bloodhound bounding to the early
bird special as they come, beg-beggin for the scraps,
even leavin’ plates clean when I polish all the raps
slow it down now boys,
watchin’ grown-ass men rockin’ little-ass toys
as I got the little ladies hot and bothered with the spoken word,
makin all the poets stop and grovel at the tokin’ bird

slow it down now girly
whip your tits like a bloodhound bounding to the early
bird special as they come, beg-beggin for the scraps,
even leavin’ plates clean when I polish all the raps
slow it down now boys,
watchin’ grown-ass men rockin’ little-ass toys
as I got the little ladies hot and bothered with the spoken word,
makin all the poets stop and grovel at the tokin’ bird.

Track Name: Howie's Back

Spittin’ like it’s venom, kiss the bliss and get your head numb
smooth-juke-box beats is leapin’ so we get dumb
slurp it up like otter pops, so basic that she oughta drop it
faster than the bass could melt her face off in a sauna
pop the trunk on my 2k, drunk like we o-kaay,
kick it when they say we loud as fuck like, shit, you don’t say?
-- , Esse, it’s a matter of cajones,
like a sackie of the wacky tabbacky we blaze
dazed phrasin’, braise the lamb of god, pick a lass to bust a nut in,
bills up in your face like you could see benjamin’s button
snug life, nug life, cruisin’ down the block
cock the middle finger higher than your nuts in a too tight jock-
strap, jocks rap, spot ‘em by the tank top,
sloppy second taught ‘em that the hoes prefer the tube sock
stockings to her knee right, spell it out like dee-light
raptor lips around my junk, thats why I call her dino-mite

Master slacker in the house, catch him goin’ with the flow
passed the class fast, clock ‘em flying pigs in the road
three guinness on my left, three shots on my right
six ways to make a lady go bump in the night
tight ass in the sheets, altogether kinda stunning
third eye blind so she didn’t see me cumming on the
triple-dip dick-rag, toss it in the hamper
pamper ladies like the motherfuckin’ genie of the lamp
tramp stampin’ to the club, rockin’ sleaze with the colla’, holla
make the lady think that I can pay top dollar --
flattery, madame me? If you wanna fuck
then we can take it back to mine and fuckin’ pop a two-buck chuck